My Deja Vu Again
by Quaxo
Summary: It wasn't like it was the first time she'd cheated on him – and they were right for one another, despite all this and if they just kept fighting they'd make it through.


Most people think that he and Jordan broke up immediately after he caught her and Petey doing the horizontal mambo. While there definitely was a 'cooling off' period where in he stayed at a hotel while she stayed holed up in the apartment they had decided to reconcile – well, he had decided to reconcile and move back in because hotels sucked, their blankets itched, and it wasn't like it was the first time she'd cheated on him – and they were right for one another, despite all this and if they just kept fighting they'd make it through.

Three weeks later he has his annual physical. Two weeks after that some mousy nurse from infection control pulls him aside and hands him his blood panel and a prescription for some antibiotics. He grovels with Mickhead and manages to get tomorrow off.

He needs to get fucking wasted after this news –

He's just cracked open a fresh bottle of scotch – still willing to be civilized and drink it from a glass for now at least, when Jordan comes in the door.

Her make-up is smudged on her face, hair heavily tousled – and if it weren't for the fact that the smell of bar cigarette smoke that swirls around her he'd wonder if she'd found another boy toy. Hell, she was slutty enough to bang someone the bathroom (he knew from experience after all).

"Great, you're fucking drunk," Jordan hisses, putting on her "princess is mighty displeased" face, complete with crinkled fake nose.

"Not yet, I'm going to be though," He grumbles more to himself, taking a deep swallow and swirling the potent liquor in his mouth to savor the taste.

She grabs her bottle of gin from the liquor cabinet and sits beside him, pouring herself a glass.

He should say something to her about the test – about what he knows… but for once he has no words. So he pours himself another drink and hopes that maybe, eventually, the words will come to him.

Six glasses in he finally has the words – and boy are there a lot of them –

"Yeah, well _FUCK_ – _YOU_ - y'gdamn asshole," Jordan snaps. "If you were better in fucking bed and, oh _I DON'T KNOW, __**HOME**_sometimes, maybe I wouldn't have to go _AND FIND SOME COMPANY_!"

"_IF YOU WEREN'T SUCH A__** FUCKING WHORE–" **_He screams, throwing his test results in her face.

"_**OH**__ FUCK __**YOU**__, PERRY – JUST BECAUSE __**I**__ LIKE A __**GOOD TIME**__ AND __**YOU'RE**__ ABOUT AS __**FUN**__ AS __**FUCKING A CORPSE!**__"_

"_WELL YOU'D __**FUCKING KNOW**__ WOULDN'T __**YOU?**__"_

She slaps them him then, _hard_ – and instinct makes him want to slap her right the fuck back – he throws his drink in her face instead. She lets out a howl of anger and throws her glass at him in return – which he narrowly dodges – watching it smash on the floor and getting a creepy sense of déjà vu that he can't quite place.

Jordan springs then – using her 120 lbs and the element of surprise – to tackle him roughly to the floor. She's alternating between slaps and weak punches to his face that are slowly sobering him as she shrieks profanities.

The idea that they've probably both had a little too much to drink is starting to dawn on him – she's so fucking plastered and upset that half her blows aren't even striking and it looks like she's swatting at gnats –

He'd laugh if it weren't for all the goddamn déjà vu that he just can't name.

A loud series of knocks rattles the door finally gets her to stop.

"Police! We need to talk to you!"

He pushes Jordan off him, forcing himself to stand and straighten his clothes, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. That déjà vu strikes again –

"How can I help you, officers," He asks, opening the door just enough to stick his face outside to see two disgruntled looking cops. They're the typical old cop/young cop duo – which means it's going to be a fucking training session. _Fuck_.

"We've received some noise complaints from your neighbors," Old cop says, boredom evident because this is probably his tenth domestic disturbance this night.

"Sorry – me and the missus just had a bit of an argument. Irish tempers, y'know," He ends with a forced laugh, wishing they'd just go the fuck away.

"Have you been drinking," young cop barks – because the job's still new and the badge's still shiny – and the thrill of making people answer your questions is still a novelty.

"A little," He admits.

Young cop's eyes narrow at him, looking him over with accusatory eyes that he can't quite figure –

"Neighbors said they heard some crashes," Young cops sneers, "Can we see 'the missus'?"

_They think I __**hit**__her…_

Sobriety slams him in the gut as he takes a step back – opening the door wider.

Jordan slinks forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning on him heavily.

"Right here, _officers_," She purrs, shooting an amorous look at the young cop.

"You okay ma'am," Young cop asks, swallowing visibly and shooting a nervous look to the old cop, who looks fucking amused.

"Fine and dandy, sorry about the noise –," She leans forward perilously to squint at the young cop's name badge, " – Officer Krakowski. We'll keep it down, I promise," Jordan coos, giving the young cop bedroom eyes and that come hither smile he knows so well.

"Well, see that you do," Krakowski manages to cough out.

"Sorry about wasting your time, officers," He says before shutting the door.

The old cop gets halfway down the hallway before he bursts out laughing.

"_Fuck, Krakowski – didn't you see the welts on that poor sonuvabitch's face? Anybody getting slapped around in that apartment it's fucking him_._"_

"_He coulda hit her too—"_

Their voices drift off as the elevator doors open and close, and the hallway is silent.

Embarrassment overwhelms him – making the kisses that Jordan's pressing along his throat feel distant and cold. He swore to himself the day he moved out of his parents' house that he would never put himself in that situation again – Yet here he is, drunk on a Tuesday night, fighting with his wife loud enough that the neighbors have to call the cops to get them to shut up.

They're fighting each other instead of fighting _**for**_ each other.

"Let's go to bed," Jordan husks in his ear, promising more than just sleep as she grinds up against him.

"It's over, Jor – I can't do this anymore."

"That so," Jordan says lightly, not believing him, nipping his ear.

"Yeah," He grunts, shoving her away from him and collapsing face first on the couch.

He can feel Jordan's eyes burning into his back – can feel her _willing_ him to get up and fuck her silly like she wants.

He can't.

"_I FUCKING __**HATE **__YOU__**!**_" She screams before storming off to the bedroom – alone – and slamming the door shut behind her.

He pulls the scotch soaked afghan down around his shoulders –

He just can't do déjà vu again.


End file.
